Sacrifice & Consequence
by 00Supernova
Summary: Part of the Pikmin Short Story Collection. A decisive battle in the Great Pikmin War sees some deadly sacrifices made in a daring gambit, and the seeeds of terrible consequences are sown . . .


**Sacrifice and Consequence**

During the Great War of Pikmin, there were many inspiring battles, lost and won. Today, I will tell you of but one of those battles.

It was not long into the war that the red pikmin had pushed out of their Aridland Oases and forced the blue pikmin back across the Haunt Marshes to the east. Meanwhile, the blue pikmin had pushed south to take a large swathe of the Great Forest where the yellow pikmin lived their generally nomadic lifestyles. The red pikmin had pushed south also, taking most of the borderland between the Aridlands and the Great Forest. This area became known as the Strip of Desolation due to its barren and destructive nature. Now, it is here that a battle of great interest occurred. The yellow pikmin were rapidly retreating to their one great city to plan an offensive. Meanwhile, a few brave pikmin held the frontlines against the ferocious red and blue pikmin. Crucially, should the red pikmin break through the Strip of Desolation, the yellow pikmin's role in the war would be over. Should they be held in place, the yellow pikmin would live to fight another day.

At the edge of the strip was the 'Purple Salient', held by the yellow troops. It was of crucial importance in holding off the reds and it is just to the east of this salient, where the Strip borders the Marshes, that a battle of (debatably foolish) bravery took place, the yellow pikmin under the command of Tor attempting to relieve pressure on the salient.

As far as any could see, the land was barren and scorched. To the north and the east of camp were vast firefields, where, even now, great bursts of gushing flame could be observed springing from the ground. It was Tor Division's pride that the central firefield (that is, the one to the east of base camp) had been kept in yellow claws for so long. However, with a small encampment propped up directly north of this firefield, it was under threat. Even now, in the scorching heat and the darkness of dusk, brave pikmin were hiding on that front line to hold the defences strong. Huge clouds of smoke rolled across the ground form the reds' camp in the marshes, not far from the east. Meticulously planned, this smoke provided cover for the reds and instilled confusion and panic in the yellows. Meanwhile, larger clouds of smoke travelled overhead to sink at a destination further along the front line. As a result, even at day, the fierce sun was blotted out.

However, today was special. Today was the day Tor's long awaited Fig Offensive would take place. The 4th bomber division had sent over its brave troops who now camped near the front line to the east. Gir knew, as an important soldier present at the meeting, exactly what was going to happen. He knew it would be a gamble, but he knew it was their only hope. He crushed the dirt with his claws as he set with determination.

"Incoming Fire!" called a voice, and a ball of furious white flames landed some 40 steps from Gir, exploding and showering the battlefield with flames. Training coming into action, all the yellow pikmin rolled on the floor, knowing this would help them to avoid the shower and also smother any flames that might strike them. Behind him, in front of him, to his sides, flames roared as the flame geysers erupted and the firebombs exploded. He dared a quick look up. With alarm, he saw fourteen red pikmin charging towards the fields, until now clothed in smoke. Gir's eyes narrowed and he suddenly jumped to his feet, shouting,

"Incoming reds! Fight to your deaths!" As one, the yellow pikmin jumped up too, crying their own individual battle cries. The eight of them charged forward into a hopeless battle. The reds were stronger, and outnumbered them almost two to one, but they all knew that their last bubble of hope, the central firefields, could not be abandoned. The Fig Offensive had begun.

A stolen flare fired up to the east. Tor walked forward through his ready troops, barely listening to the soldier informing him that the plan was ready to go forward. He was truly an impressive sight. Tor was hardened by battle: his claws unusually long an sharp, his eyes dark and aggressive, his flower curled up and damaged, but obstinately filled with pride, refusing to wither. On his shoulder, a vast pauldron weighed down on his shoulder, crafted from a bloody Bulborb fang. From it hung a cape of Hairy Bulborb hair, painted with blood to hide him on this infernal battlefield. He stepped boldly onto the edge of the small ridge that overlooked the west firefield and the two camps that lay within, shrouded in smoke.

"On my word," he growled, and the others, some thirty strong, readied themselves.

Oak XVI of the 4th bomber division was crawling across the battlefield. His group had slit from the others to deal with the base that fringed central firefield, while the others went on to deal with central camp. Weighed down by heavy packs, the eight bombers crawled across scorched earth, eyes on area where they knew there was a pit the reds called their base.

Oak noticed many things on the way. Reds were moving quickly from the northmost bases to take advantage of the gain at central firefield. In worry for his allies holding that position, he quickened his pace.

The first explosion shook the earth, shocking the battling reds. The base collapsed in on itself, the pit filling up. Gir took advantage of the distraction to fiercely tear the head off the neck of his injured opponent. He then quickly lunged forward and seized his comrade who lay behind, near to death, and pulled him to safety. There was another explosion, then another. Red pikmin coming to reinforce the attack were caught between blasts as the carefully placed bombs took action. Panic fell on them like a cloud of their own camouflage-smoke. Gir looked up quickly, and saw two reds running towards him. He felt suddenly oppressed by the heat of the geysers, but held his ground. He had no choice but to fight.

Oak dropped his empty bomb case and charged into the battle himself. However, what he saw quickly ground him to a halt. In the firefields, no pikmin was moving, and he could discern no cry for help, save one. Quickly, he and another bomber headed towards this cry as the others moved on towards their next objective in the north. Oak and his friend found a wounded pikmin, left with no arms and only one leg.

"Why?" he cried. "We all fought our hardest, we all were ready to give our lives. Why am I the only one left alive?" The two bombers exchanged worried looks. The pikmin was consumed with grief, which was uncommon amongst pikmin. The two seized him and took him away to be returned to his Onion, where he could restore his energy, but it seemed he would never fight again.

Leaving the two bases and some twenty or thirty slain pikmin behind, Tor moved forward. His number had fallen by half, but he could not afford to stop and recalculate. He surged onwards. He'd let the bombers take care of the east firefields. He was confident they could do that, now that most of the pikmin there had moved south. However, his ordeal would be to take the red main base and destroy their Onions, for when a base was destroyed, the Onions would quickly retreat to the local headquarters of the operation. However, if he was to take the base, he would then be isolated with red territory to the north and the forces who survived the bombs attacking from the south. Nonetheless, he surged onwards.

As they reached the main base, they heard explosions and combat in the east, but could see nothing as smoke descended on them. Only Tor showed no fear here and led the troops on. It was nto long before they were at the main base itself. There, ahead, stood some twenty reds. Outnumbered again, yet Tor roared his battle cry once more, and the brave yellows ran forward, using their lightweight nature to avoid attacks by the red pikmin and strike with deadly precision. Tor ducked from a flinging leaf and barged the pikmin with his shoulder, his pauldron piercing the red's heart.

Viciously they battled, for long after explosions ceased to the east. Tor looked about him after breaking a red's neck. There were a mere four of the original thirty left. Suddenly, a yellow arrived from the smoke, and delivered a message. Tor's eyes widened.

"I declare now," he began, in his thunderous voice, "The Fig Offensive is a success!" The other three pikmin cheered at this. For the messenger had informed Tor that the bomber squadrons who had finished their jobs had attacked the disorientated red pikmin who had survived the bombing and killed them quick, albeit with heavy losses. Now, only four of the able soldiers remained, along with eight of the twenty bombers. The bombers came quickly to destroy the Onions, while the first remained to conclude his report.

The Fig Offensive had been a dangerous gamble, but it was careful planning of the bombing and a sacrifice by the defendants of the central firefield that allowed it to succeed. Nonetheless, it would be a meaningless victory if the position was lost. Messengers were being sent to call for reinforcements from the Great Forest, and to convince the elders that it was time to mount a counter-offensive immediately.

In all the urgency, one pikmin was forgotten. Gir crawled on his stem and leg, into the Aridlands, His eyes were unfocused, his head was filled with ideas of revenge and hatred. Most of all, his hatred was focused on the one who had made his friends fight to the death. His hatred was focused on the great wartime leader, Tor.


End file.
